


To Build a Home (Hiatus)

by pixieheart



Category: Phan, Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: AU, M/M, Phanfiction, mermaid!au, mermaid!dan, phanfic, to build a home
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-10-06 23:23:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10346904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixieheart/pseuds/pixieheart
Summary: Phil Lester is a marine biologist who dedicated his life to protecting the ocean and its inhabitants. He loves his job, his little seaside cabin, his little one-man row boat, and his beloved gold fish Susan. When he finds a mysterious boy washed up on the shore, he’s determined to help Dan recover and find his way home… even if it means sacrificing everything he loves.





	1. Forecast

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: Hi everyone! This is the start of mermaid!AU Dan and Phil fanfiction. I’m going to try and upload new chapters every weekend. I appreciate your kudos, likes, reblogs, comments, and feedback! Any adult-oriented content or possible triggers will be warned in the notes so please pay attention to them if you’re trying to avoid certain things. Lastly, my tumblr username is kissyphil and I would love to answer any questions regarding the fic! Thanks guys!

(Phil's POV)

 

“It’s just you and me, Susan.”

I make sure her bowl is nestled safely between my knees before lifting a hand to hold over my brow. The motion does very little to shield my eyes from the brilliant sunlight that reflects off the sea. One of these mornings, I would remember to grab my sunglasses before running out the door, though I suppose it doesn’t bother me too much if I’ve never thought to bring them. Still, I usually find myself regretting their absence when I’m staring blindly into the horizon.

My name is Phil Lester and I love the sea.

I would live in the ocean if I could, but seeing as humans aren’t equipped to live under water, I settled for a seaside cottage on the coast of Florida. My parents weren’t too thrilled that their youngest son was leaving the country straight out of university, but seeing as Manchester didn’t offer many opportunities in marine science, it was off to the states for me.

I knew it wouldn’t be easy.

The first hurdle had been finding somewhere to stay. I had a small bit in savings from working part-time at my university, but it wasn’t enough for more than a few month’s rent. I considered motel hopping until I could find some sort of income, but Mum wouldn’t have that. She persuaded my dad to float me a loan so “their son wouldn’t end up on the American streets”. I think she was imagining my face on one of those sad commercials they always show on TV.

Just five dollars a month can help out your son in need. Call and sign up within the next ten minutes to receive a free tote bag… an exclusive offer you won’t find anywhere else! Cue the Sarah McLachlin music.

With the money my parents loaned me, I passed up living in a flat to buy myself a house on the beach. A twenty-three year old buying a house? (I must have been crazy, right?) Fear not! The same spontaneous decision that gave my poor mum a heart attack also turned out to be one of the best choices I ever made.

I fell in love the second I saw it.

Sure, the outside needed a fresh coat of paint and there were a few leaky patches in the roof. The wooden railings on the porch were rotten. The squeaky front door probably needed a pint of WD-40 and I couldn’t deny the carpet smelled funny. The bath tub may have had a major leak. There was no air conditioning and no garbage pickup. If I wanted cable, I’d have to install it myself (as told by the _slightly_ uptight real estate agent who sold me the place).

The property was small but secluded, tucked several miles off a one-lane road. He made a point to inform me the nearest grocery store was over twenty minutes away and the hospital was even further. Maybe he could sense I was prone to accidents just from looking at me.

The little house had a lot of issues that deemed it undesirable to many, but none of that mattered to me. I looked right past all of its flaws and saw potential. I saw a beautiful expanse of water in front of a private beach. Quiet. Peaceful. Beautiful. It was perfect (and cheap!)

The second battle had been finding a job. Apparently, not too many places are interested in hiring young British men with tight jeans and a fringe. It took two weeks of diligent applications and interviews before I landed a job, but it was well worth the wait. It turns out my bachelor’s degree in marine biology turned out to be useful after all. Take that, Dad!

The Marine Observation and Rehabilitation Center (I fondly refer to it as MORC) is a state-funded marine center on the outskirts of Miami. We’re a team of aquatic enthusiasts who are dedicated to the preservation and restoration of the ocean and its inhabitants. MORC takes in sick or wounded wildlife and nurses them back to health until they can be safely released into the sea. Fish, sting rays, turtles, jelly fish- you name it- we fix them up and send them on their way better than ever. The sea creatures that can’t be released back to the wild are taken care of in the observation center: a sort of aquarium where people can come and see the ocean’s beauty up close.

That’s where I come in.

My official title is “regional humane educator”, which is a fancy way of saying I’m the guy that talks about fish. My job includes giving guided tours of the observation center and teaching guests the importance of ocean preservation. Sometimes, if it’s a slow day, I get to assist the marine attendants with the upkeep of the aquarium. Trust me, it’s more fun than it sounds. It mostly involves feeding the fish, but occasionally I get to help distribute medication or ride along with the animal transport.

I love what I do; it’s the only thing that makes the hour and a half drive to and from work manageable. Not to mention it feels pretty great to come home to my little seaside house at the end of the night, kick off my shoes, and take a stroll down to the shore. I wouldn’t give it up for anything.

In my spare time, I take the row boat out to sea. It’s a tiny little thing, barely big enough for two people. Luckily, it’s just me and Susan, and she doesn’t take up much space. I bought it with my first paycheck and fixed it up with my second. Can you tell I’m sort of a fixer-upper kind of guy?

I’m not sure what made me want to buy a row boat before a proper mattress. I guess I appreciate the ocean more than a good night’s rest. There’s just something inspirational about bobbing between the waves, staring off into the horizon and breathing in the fresh salt-water air of the Florida Keys. It validates all the tough choices I made to get here: the expensive education, leaving behind my family in England, working almost every day, and living a surprisingly solitary life. When I’m in the water, everything I’ve done in the last four years seems worth it.

It’s not sacrifice without gain. I’m educating the world about the importance of ocean conservation and saving billions of aquatic lives in the process. I’m making a difference in the world and I’ve managed to become self-sufficient in the process. Not only am I completely independent, but I’m a twenty-six year old with their own house. It’s the life I dreamed of since I was a kid.

So why do I find myself feeling so _deflated?_

“No offense, but I’m finding our conversations a little bit one-sided,” I chuckle to my companion. Beady amber eyes glowered up at me in a silent response; a tiny mouth faltered into a tiny “o” shape. Sometimes I wonder if Susan can actually understand me. There aren’t many emotions a common goldfish can relay, but I can usually determine a response based on how she puckers her little fishy lips.

I hadn’t always taken Susan with me out to sea. It was a habit I’d picked up in the last few months as I found myself desperate for company. I think she likes being able to see the ocean, even if she’s confined to a fish bowl. She’s a bit like me in that way. I couldn’t leave the safety of my little row boat if I wanted to.

Did you know that fifty-four percent of the human population can’t swim?

I know, I picked a peculiar occupation for someone who’s afraid of going overboard. It seems to surprise everyone that I haven’t learned how to swim. Fortunately, not a single aspect of my job actually requires me to be in the water. It’s never been a problem and I guess if it was, I would learn how to adapt. Just like the pelicans with oil matting their feathers together, or the turtles whose shells grow around the plastic wrap of a six-pack. They’re forced to adapt to their environment, so I am too.

Of course, floating above the surface in a little row boat and equipped with a safety orange life vest is a little different than plunging straight to the depths of the sea, and both of those things are different than physically suffering because humanity is too selfish to properly dispose of their waste.

I glance down at my watch. It seemed like I had only been idling in the water for a few minutes, but the glowing digital numbers tell me otherwise. It seems strange how quickly time passes when you’re out at sea.

“We better be getting back,” I hesitantly sigh. “I work in two hours and you’ve got a breakfast reservation at Casa de Lester.”

With Susan’s bowl repositioned between my legs, I pick up the pair of paddles and start rowing my way back to the distant shore.

 

* * *

 

“Shelly is our oldest resident here at the observation center. Last week she celebrated her ninety-second birthday!”

An echo of fascination spreads throughout the crowd of children, each of them harboring a different level of excitement depending on how closely they were paying attention to the demonstration. They made their way over to the aquarium tank in a fleeting swarm, pressing their noses against the glass and leaving smudges from their grubby little hands. I had been one of them, once upon a time. It had been a primary school field trip to the local aquarium when I realized my love for marine life. The possibility that there could be a junior Phil Lester in this disorderly group of kids makes my job even more worthwhile.  

“What happened to her foot?” A single child speaks up over the cacophony of the group, catching my attention. Once the little girl had raised the question, her classmates began to repeat the inquiry in a choir of confusion.

“Look here.” I have to raise my voice to speak over the calamity. A sea of curious eyes follow my hand as I usher towards the turtle’s deformed flipper. Poor Shelly. She had been brought in after a nearly fatal incident, long before I came to work here. One of her front flippers had been caught in a motor boat propeller. The doctors did everything they could to help her, but in the end it had been necessary to amputate the flipper. She had been in the observation’s care ever since.

“Shelly only has three flippers. See? She lost this one in an accident a long time ago… probably before any of you were born.” Another coo ripples throughout the group, accompanied by a handful of quivering lips.

“How does she swim?” asks a boy as he strains his neck to get a better view.

“She adapted,” I explain. “Does anyone know what that means?” The awkward silence following my question is enough of an answer to me. “Adapting means learning how to survive a big change. Shelly used to have four flippers, but she learned how to swim with three because that’s what she had to do.”

“Do the other turtles make fun of her?” blurts another child. The innocence of the question makes me smile encouragingly. One of my favorite things about the younger groups was their uncensored curiosity. They asked the sort of things adults usually contemplated on their own. It was questions like these that I liked answering most of all.

“Nope! All the other turtles love Shelly just how she is. Besides, having one less flipper doesn’t make her any less of a turtle.” My explanation seemed to please the children, as they quickly began to chatter among themselves. I dropped my hand from the glass and gave Shelly a final glance over my shoulder. Despite the loss of her flipper, she seemed just as content as the other turtles in our care. I hoped that the children gathered around me would realize her strength and appreciate her beauty, just as I did.

“Quiet down, kids. Let’s all listen to what the nice man has to say.” The chipper voice of a woman breaks me out of my thoughts. She was assumingly the teacher or chaperone escorting the children; a young woman, possibly younger than myself.

It startles me how often I find myself comparing my life to others around me. If I hadn’t followed the career path of a marine biologist, where would I be today? There was a point in my childhood where I thought being a weatherman would be the coolest job in the world. Now that I’m older, I can’t imagine a more mundane life.

Twenty-six year old Phil Lester with a closet full of blazers? Standing behind the same camera every day and reciting scripted words off of a teleprompter? No thanks. I’m not even sure how to tie a tie. I don’t think I could ever be so professional and boring. I’ll take the aqua blue polo shirt and the lingering fishy smell any day.

Did the young woman in front of me always dream of supervising a class of rowdy children, or had she sacrificed her dreams for a reliable income? Had her parents told her to settle for something more “realistic”? What if she had wanted to become a dancer or an actress? What if she had dreamed of being the first woman on Mars?

It makes me wonder how different my life would be if I had given up on my dream of becoming a marine biologist. Would I be the weird weatherman on the five o’clock news with a crooked tie and a fringe?

A hushed silence falls over the children as the woman shifts their attention back to me. How long had I been standing with my head in the clouds? I show my appreciation to her with a nod of my head.

“Sea turtles like Shelly can live to be over one hundred years old.” I recite the fact from the depths of my brain, struggling to focus on my job instead of my own daydreams. “In fact, the oldest turtle we know of is over four hundred.”

The children respond with a symphony of entertained squeals. I’m not sure if they knew exactly how long four centuries was compared to their tiny blip of existence, but the length seemed to impress them all the same. I could sense the wonder and amazement in their eyes as they tried to imagine what a four hundred year old turtle might look like.

“Will Shelly be four hundred one day?” inquires a child in the front of the group. My entertained smile falters slightly and I crouch down to her level. It wasn’t the first time I had been asked questions relating to how long an animal is expected to live, but it’s always more difficult when it comes from a child.

“Maybe.” I decide to answer carefully, looking her in the eyes. “Shelly might have four hundred years… or she might just have one hundred. That’s why we should appreciate every day and live life to its fullest. Just like she does.”

Sensing my advice had taken a more serious direction, I decide it’s a good time to shepherd the kids to the next exhibit.

 

* * *

 

There are no tours of the observation between two o’clock and three, which leaves my schedule open for a nice long lunch hour. A handful of my coworkers take their break around the same time, which means the outside deck is usually lively by the time I step out. The deck is a roof top dining area equipped with a couple of picnic tables and a stunning view of the property. Unless it’s raining, you can usually find half the staff lingering up there.

I’m not particularly close with any of my fellow associates, but I’ve worked here long enough to know everyone’s names and have a general understanding of their personalities. As I step out onto the deck, I immediately recognize two of the associates from the observation gift shop. They’re seated together at one of the tables, comfortably lounging in the shade of an overhead umbrella and eating their lunch.

Chris is a bit older than me and I rarely catch him in a good mood. He always has something sarcastic to say and scorns me for my optimism as if it’s a bad thing. PJ is a bit younger, though not by much. He’s friendly and talkative, which makes him a lot easier to chat with. The two were obviously close, always laughing over inside jokes and goofing around behind the counter. From my understanding, they’re roommates as well. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t envious of their friendship.

I had never been close friends with anyone. I had a handful of mates back in Manchester, but we all went our separate ways after high school and never kept in touch. My university years were spent with my nose buried in books and as soon as I graduated, I got up and moved to America.

Over three years later, I still hadn’t managed to make any friends. I have a handful of acquaintances, but I haven’t tried to spend time with anyone outside of work hours. Sometimes it disappointed me; for the generally sociable person I tend to be, you’d think I would have more relationships in my life.

I learned a long time ago that it’s a lot more awkward to sit alone than to join your coworkers for lunch, so I decide to do the latter. PJ stops mid-sentence to wave me over, offering the spot beside him with a wide stretched grin. I take a seat, promptly digging into my brown paper bag for the sandwich I had made last night.

“This weather is perfect,” PJ continues cheerfully. “There’s nothing like a warm breeze and the Florida sun.”

“You better not get used to it,” Chris scoffs as he idly tosses an apple. “That hurricane is supposed to hit this weekend.”

“Hurricane?” It was the first I heard about the storm. I should probably listen to the radio on my way to work or something. This part of the country was known for getting hit by dangerous storms. We usually get the worst of it, being right off of the gulf. I had already survived a few hurricanes, but thankfully none of them had wiped out my little house. Still, my roof needed some serious repairs after last year’s big hurricane and I wasn’t looking forward to chucking out the cash for that again. “Is it supposed to be bad?”

“Category two,” answers Chris with an irritated grunt. “I can’t wait to spend next week cleaning debris out of the marina.”

I press my lips together and stare down at the unappetizing appearance of my PB&J. Not only had it been squished when I shoved my lunch bag into my locker, but the jelly had soaked through the bread and left it extra soggy. Between the sandwich and the news of an impending hurricane, I wasn’t very hungry anymore.

I decide to leave the sandwich. Note to self: pack more durable food.

“At least the shop won’t be busy,” PJ pipes in with an encouraging smile. I appreciated his attempt to find the bright side in a potentially disastrous situation. If only his associate could be as optimistic.

“Yeah. No one wants to visit an aquarium when they can just look out their window and see a hundred dead fish washed up on their lawn.” Something about Chris’s sarcastic observation makes my heart sink with sadness. That was the worst part about hurricanes: the unbelievable amount of marine life that suffered in its aftermath.

“It’s not funny,” I comment. “Hundreds of animals are killed in storms like these. Even more are unwillingly relocated and separated from their families. Last year we took in seven injured turtles from the eastern Florida shore _alone_. Not to mention the hurricane debris gets washed out to sea. The destruction is enough to pollute the water and poison billions of fish.”

“Alright, Mr. Discovery Channel.” Chris nearly interrupts me with the childish moniker he came up with several weeks ago. The name is supposed to be mocking me for my rambling, but if that’s the worst thing about me, I think I’m doing alright.

Sue me for being passionate about my job.

“We get the idea,” he continues with a roll of his eyes. “What are you going to do, build an ark?”

How could anybody be so heartless? Billions of ocean lives were under threat of annihilation and all he cared about was having to clean out the pool? I sigh loudly. His complete lack of concern for the oceanic ecosystem is disheartening.

“I’m going to pretend that comeback made sense,” I retort at last. “It’s a hurricane, not the great flood.” This sort of banter happened often enough that I came to expect it out of any conversation I attempted with Chris. It was another bullet point on the long list of reasons we can’t be friends.

“Ah, he reads the Bible.”

“It’s always an adventure with you two,” PJ interjects with a dejected sigh. “Can’t you make it through a single lunch break without firing each other up?”

“Apparently not,” I mutter.

PJ’s firm hand pats on my shoulder in an attempt to comfort me, but I brush away his concern. I respected him; the poor guy gets stuck between our bickering and still plays the mediator. I decide my coworker’s sour personality isn’t worth getting upset over, especially when the other man is there to keep him in line. They had a weird friendship that I couldn’t quite wrap my head around. If Chris was this short-tempered when his best friend was present, I would hate to see him when the other man wasn’t at his side.

“Hey, Phil! Have you come up with any new sketches?” PJ changes the course of the conversation, steering it my direction. I was surprised to hear him bring up my artwork again; it was something I had casually mentioned a few weeks ago and I didn’t expect him to remember, much less ask me about it later. His effort to be friendly and learn more about me is humbling, but I’m a little embarrassed. Talking about myself is something I’m not used to doing.

Maybe I should consider PJ as more than just a coworker. I liked him and wouldn’t mind being friends, though it would have been easier if Mr. Pessimistic wasn’t stuck to him like super glue.

“Just a few.” I consider running to my locker to grab my sketch book, but the thought of busting out my drawings to show and tell seems childish.

“You’re working on some kind of theme, aren’t you?”

“Yeah… I’m designing a collection of tattoos inspired by the ocean.” I nervously avert my eyes. The scoff heard from Chris’ side of the table is exactly the sort of response I expected.

“I didn’t take you for that type,” he says. “Do you even have any tattoos?”

I didn’t, but admitting so would only give my coworker another reason to tease me. I instantly regret going into details and tried to think of a way to climb out of the ditch I had just dug myself into.

I’ll get a tattoo eventually. Maybe I’ll even get a bunch of them. I just haven’t come up with a design worthy enough to have permanently inked on my skin. Not to mention the thought of going under a needle makes my stomach flip inside out. Did that make me some kind of coward? I’d like to think it makes me sensible.

Although I love working on sketches in my free time, I could never bring myself to do anything with them. There’s a reason I pursued my passion for marine biology instead of my interest in art. Someone who designs tattoos having an intolerable fear of needles? That would look _great_ on a resume.

“Having tattoos doesn’t make you a _type_ ,” PJ points out with a buoyant chuckle. He has a strange way of scolding Chris without an ounce of negativity in his tone. I’m not sure how he does it, especially if he has to tolerate the other man’s attitude on a daily basis. His method seems to work though, because Chris gets quiet and resumes his meal.

“Besides, I don’t think Phil really fits _any_ stereotypes. He’s sort of like his own person.” It’s this nonchalant comment from PJ that makes my heart sink into my stomach. He hadn’t said it to make me feel bad; I know better than that. My disappointment came from knowing my coworkers couldn’t find me relatable. I was the oddball, the guy who wasn’t seen outside of work hours and the guy who no one invited to hang out.

My lips fall into a frown.

What type of person am I? I’m the type of person who talks too much when they get excited and ends up annoying everyone around me. I’m the type of person who designs tattoos but is too afraid to get one himself. I’m the type of person who lives on his own and tells his goldfish about his day at work.

The more I think about it, the less I have to wonder why I don’t have any friends.

 

* * *

 

The week passed in a blur. The observation center had hardly gotten any visitors because everyone was too busy battening down their hatches for the inclement weather.

Most of my hours at work were spent scrambling around with a hammer in one hand and a walkie-talkie in the other as part of the joint effort to reinforce the building. Together, the staff of MORC managed to construct several lids for the tanks; each of them looked like an over sized hatch weighed down by several tons of sand bags. Hopefully, the barriers we built will keep out airborne debris and protect the animals below, minimizing damage to the aquarium and its residents.

When Friday rolled around, it took twice the time to get home from work. The highway had become a standstill as a massive herd tried to flee north for the weekend. I also made the mistake of stopping at the grocery store along the way, hoping to pick up some essentials to hold me through the storm. The store had been wiped out of every loaf of bread, every gallon of milk, and every pack of distilled water. Not only that, but the aisles had been so crowded that my ankles were whacked by four different trollies.

_Four._

I arrived home shortly after eleven with a single bag of groceries and promptly put them away. Susan swims in circles as I kick off my shoes and slip on my pajamas, and afterwards I tuck her bowl under my arm and return to the kitchen. I heard animals could predict a change in the atmosphere, especially things like natural disasters. Could Susan feel the impending destruction of the hurricane? She wasn’t acting unusual, though I wasn’t sure what unusual behavior would be for a common goldfish.

I set her on the counter and drop a pinch of fish food into her bowl. She seemed like the same old Susan to me.

Midway through pouring myself a bowl of cereal, my pocket starts to buzz.

There’s only one person likely to call me, much less at this hour. I grab the bowl of dry mini wheats and carry it with me to the couch before answering.

“Hey, Mum.”

The relationship I had with my mother is the closest I had to a best friend. We spoke at least once a week, sometimes more often depending on how her day went. Unfortunately, time zone differences are a thing, and Manchester is four hours ahead. My poor mum would wake up at three or four o’clock in the morning just to call her son in the states. Even if I had a poor day at work, I had to appreciate the effort Mum made to catch up with me.

She hardly greeted me before lunging into a binge of questions, though I should have expected as much. Mum could be a bit overprotective at times and something like a hurricane was justifiably panic-worthy.

“Philip! Are you home safely? Has it started storming? Are you watching the radar? Did you pick up milk and bread?”

“Yes, Mum. I’m home safe. The storm hasn’t kicked up yet but I’m keeping an eye on the radar, and no, the store was completely wiped out. But I did stock up on toilet roll and coffee.”

She sighs loudly.

“I wish you had come home,” she says. “Your father and I are worried sick.”

I give a roll of my eyes and kick my feet up onto the coffee table. Knowing my mother, she had been talking my dad’s ear off about how worried she was. No amount of reassurance on my part was going to calm her nerves. Dad had probably heard any and every horrible scenario that her frantic mind could come up with.

“You know I couldn’t. They’re really going to need me at work,” I tell her. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. I boarded up the windows and everything.” Even if the job had been poorly done, the planks over my two windows should have been enough to keep them intact.

“Have you got plenty to eat?” she goes on.

“Plenty.” I toss a handful of mini wheats into my mouth to prove my point, crunching on them loudly. “Just no milk.”

“I worry about you, Philip.” Her voice wavers with emotion, stabbing my gut with guilt. Even though she supported my dream of becoming a marine biologist, I know she longed for me to stay in the country. It broke her heart when I moved out here and I’m pretty sure she’s been hoping for me to move back every day since.

“I know you do,” I say.

“Promise that you’ll be safe?” She’s searching for validation, but I can’t give it to her. Nature is unpredictable and even the most prepared person can be taken out by its wrath. As much as I wanted to reassure her that I would be just fine, I couldn’t promise her anything. I choose my words carefully, hoping my optimism will ease her nerves.

“I’m as safe as I can possibly be. The aquarium is closed tomorrow, so I’m not going anywhere. Susan and I are going to have a relaxing day in front of the TV. I might even get to watch that film you sent me last month.”

Mum giggles. Success!

“It really is a good film. You’ll ring me tomorrow?”

“If the cell towers aren’t down, I will.”

“I love you, honey.”

“I love you too, Mum.”

With the concerned phone call behind me, I delve a hand into the bowl of dry cereal and search around for the remote. Hearing the wind picking up outside, I decided to take advantage of the cable while I still could.

 

* * *

 

The morning hours passed in a blur of relentless rain and howling wind. It wasn’t so bad at first, as I was able to lounge on the sofa with my 3DS and catch up on some much-needed gaming. Around mid-day, I rang Mum to let her know I was holding up and made myself another bowl of cereal (minus the milk). After a while of sitting around the house all day, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself.

It wasn’t until the late afternoon that my little house was really hit with the wrath of the hurricane.

Susan and I sat crouched in the minimal protection of the bath tub for several hours while the storm assaulted the house with sheets of rain and hail. Occasionally, I could hear pieces of my precious home getting wrenched away by the wind: the siding, the shingles of the roof, and the shutters. I could only hope the damage wouldn’t be too extensive, and I tried to remain optimistic.

If I _had_ to replace the siding, I finally had a reason to paint the exterior. White was such a boring color.

Only after the noise of the storm subsided did I leave the safety of the bathroom. A quick look around my living room confirmed that my crappy boarding job had kept the windows intact. There were a couple soggy patches in the ceiling, no doubt where the previous patch job on the roof had failed, but there were no major leaks. Luckily, other than the spotty ceiling and a puddle seeping in from below the front door, it seemed like my house had survived another hurricane.

My watch reads half past midnight. More than likely I’d be getting a call from my boss in the wee hours of the morning; he would be desperate for as many employees to come in as possible to get the observation center back on track for the following Monday. Being the diligent worker that I am, he would be expecting me to come in whether my roof was leaking or not.

I slipped into my shoes, curious about the conditions outside. The treacherous wind had ceased and I could hardly hear the rain, so I figured it was safe enough to step out of the house. The door was unusually difficult to open because of the sludge-like mound of wet sand that had gathered on the porch.

A cool breeze hits my face as I venture further. With the full moon hidden behind a flock of thick clouds, it was darker than usual; my eyes struggle to adjust so I could properly take a look around.

I recognize one of my shutters in the distance, half buried in the sand. Other remnants of the house are scattered among debris: tree limbs, splinters of wood, palm leaves, and balls of plastic from further inland. After scanning the area, I turn to look at the house.

It had definitely seen better days.

Running a hand through my fringe, I release a breath of air I hadn’t meant to be holding. The exterior of my house was far worse than the interior. There was no sign of the ivory siding that had once layered the residence. Most of the porch had been torn away, and what was left of the overhang had fallen in on itself. The house was still standing, but it wasn’t looking good.

I cast a glance towards the driveway, appalled at what I see. A neighboring palm tree had been ripped from the ground, unhinged and maneuvered just enough to drop down across the hood of my car.

Maybe I wouldn’t be going into work after all.

Despite the eerie atmosphere and the sickening wreckage that surrounded me, the calm after the storm was relaxing. I tug the hood of my raincoat over my head and start trudging towards the shoreline, ignoring the light rainfall and enjoying the gentle breeze. The waves hit the shore unusually rough, lapping at the sand with hunger. It was hypnotizing and distracting.

I’m so fascinated with the behavior of the ocean that I zone out and find myself staring blindly at the water.

Something in the shoreline catches my attention. I squint, struggling to identify the mysterious object without drawing closer. Whatever it was shimmered brilliantly, even in the dark. The foamy waves swathed around it and fell back in a steady rhythm, which meant it was heavy enough that the ocean couldn’t pull it back.

My first guess was that it was a piece of rubbish. Part of a car, maybe, that had dropped into the water and gotten washed up here. But then I began to wonder if it was some kind of fish or sea turtle. The hurricane had been violent enough to uproot all kinds of sea life. My heart skips a beat and I start to jog over.

“Please be rubbish,” I whisper to myself.

My shoes keep getting stuck in the sand, making the journey down the beach twice as difficult. The shiny object grew in size as I came closer, though I still couldn’t make out what it was that had been washed ashore.

I come to a sudden stop several feet away and blink hard. I even rub my eyes with the back of my hands, struggling to come to terms with what I’ve found. It wasn’t rubbish at all.

It was a boy.


	2. Blackfish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hello all! This chapter has been written forever but I've been so busy with work that I never got around to finishing it. This is a bit of insight into Dan's life before he washes ashore.

**Chapter 2: Blackfish**

(Dan’s POV)

 

**THREE MONTHS EARLIER...**

 

Quiet.

The ocean has a way of making everything soft and tranquil to the senses. The deafening rumble of water in your eardrums is enough to mute most sounds. The movement of life underwater is slow and silent anyway, vacant of splashing and the crashing of water against rock. The coral is vibrant in color but comfortably dull around the edges, unlike the sharp view above the surface. Any light that filters down from above moves across the sea floor in a soothing rhythm, highlighting the brilliant organisms that litter the depths.

The world undersea is endless, but there was is no such thing as isolation. Whether it be the company of a microscopic organism or the stagnant growth of coral, the sense of community was always there.

Inescapable.

My home is beautiful, but I long for the solitude it cannot offer.

I longed to experience uncharted territory. What mysteries does the ocean keep hidden in its depths? Are there places that have yet to be explored? Treasures that have yet to be found? Are there life-changing adventures to be had just out of my reach?

The suffocating truth of it all is that _I would never know._

The shrill, high pitched squeal of children ruptures the peaceful silence and breaks me from my thoughts. Two pairs of brilliant aquamarine eyes appear over the break in the rock, followed immediately by an accusing finger being jabbed in my general direction. Unfortunately, the deafening hum of the ocean can’t mute the excited banter of my siblings. Their voices ring loud and clear in my head.

Even though it’s convenient, telepathy is an abrasive method that gets on my nerves. It allows anyone in to jump into your head at any moment of the day, whether you want them to or not. The lack of privacy is astounding.

 _“You’re bad at this game, Danny!”_ Another voice accommodates the others and a third set of eyes rises over the edge of the stone. There were three beady-eyed children peeking into the small nook I had claimed as my own, invading the only sense of privacy I had found in days.

 _“Maybe because I wasn’t playing your silly game,”_ I answer.

I wriggled out of my hiding place and brush past the three of them, acting blatantly ignorant of their disappointed faces.

The youngfin are always trying to include me in their pointless pastimes (even more insistently when I decline their invitation). My efforts to flee from them are in vain, as there isn’t a single crevice they haven't already poked their noses in. I’ve resorted to shadowed corners where they are less likely to notice me, using the darkness of my scales to blend in with my surroundings.

Not even that could keep the curious ones away.

 _“You’re being sulky!”_ my brother cries. There's a glint of sadness in his eyes, as if he's genuinely surprised I won't play along.

Guilt isn’t an emotion I act on. _I know_ I’m being a poor brother for rudely turning tail to my younger siblings. They don’t need to validate these thoughts with their pathetic whines and pitiful expressions. Couldn’t they harass someone else? There are a dozen others in the den and at least one of them could entertain them better than I can. I had more important things to do...

Like finding a new hiding place.

The endless commotion in the lagoon is too much to keep up with. The elderfin gossip constantly, the youngfin get under everyone’s tails, and the rest of us are expected to keep our hands busy. There’s always work to be done and never praise to be spoken. Everyone’s in a rush to go somewhere, do something, or blabber the afternoon away.

No one stops to just _experience_ the ocean.

I’m the only one in the entire colony who doesn’t abide by the hectic pattern and that’s what makes me “sulky”. If I minded, I would try to change my disposition. Call it sulking if you want. I call it being realistic.

How can they be so content with their lives? Don’t they ever strive for anything more than a routine? Don’t they ever wonder what’s beyond the reef? Isn’t there more to life than duties and rules?

 _“You never want to play with us!”_ cries one of my sisters. She thinks her complaining will change my mind and coerce me out of my brooding.

She’s wrong.

_“Play with yourselves. Stop bothering me.”_

Eventually, my stern voice and cold shoulder would turn them away and they would move on to hound someone else for attention.

Hopefully.

If not, they’ll keep hunting me down until the mundane routine of life brings an end to their games. They’re nearly old enough to start training anyway, so it was only a matter of time until they were chosen for their roles and lost their playful temperaments.

The life of a seafolk is all work and little play. Once you reach maturity, you’re expected to drop everything you once enjoyed and dedicate yourself entirely to the betterment of the colony. It’s called “growing into your tails” and it’s nailed into our heads from the moment we open our eyes.

As a newly-adjusted adult, I’m no exception.

The difference is that most seafolk were working hard, not slacking off in the most vacant corners of the territory. Now that my little slice of tranquility had been discovered, there’s nothing better to do than to return to my duties. If I was lucky, the youngfin wouldn’t tattle on me for lounging around.

Unfortunately, I’m known to be remarkably unlucky.

 _“Daniel.”_ I hear a sudden, agitated voice in the front of my mind. Apparently, I didn’t have to wait for the youngfin to tell on me; my absence had already been noticed by my superior. He isn't the chief but he likes to think he is. I imagine his expression now: square jaw hinged into an exaggerated frown and a nose scrunched in frustration. His nose always scrunches up when he’s pissed off. The others find it intimidating. I think it’s sort of funny.

When I don’t respond immediately, he sharpens his tone. _“You better have a good excuse to be abandoning your duties for the third time today.”_

 _“I don’t, but do you still want to hear it?”_ Sometimes, my humor gets me out of some tight situations.

_“Get back to work.”_

It doesn’t seem like today is one of those times.

He cuts off the channel and the hum of another seafolk in my head disappears. The silence is nice. There’s something incredibly unsettling about having someone else jump into your mind. It was a feeling I’d never get used to, no matter how often it happened.

A group of seafolk pass by without a word, their noses turned down as if the seafloor was more interesting than wherever they were swimming. They were avoiding eye contact with me and their attempts to hide it were pathetic.

Dan Howell: the colony’s blackfish. From my anti-social tendencies to the color of my scales, nothing about me is _normal_. I don’t think I’m disliked in the community, I’m just not _favored_. It was another reason I avoided others.

_“Hey, Dan! I heard you were skipping.”_

I can’t seem to get five tail-lengths without someone popping into my head and interrupting my thoughts.

Joe’s company is one of the few that I find tolerable and even he irritates me at times. He swims over and joins my pace, making it impossible to ignore him. Just like the youngfin, he didn’t seem to take the hint that I wasn’t interested in hanging out.

_“I was.”_

_“Heading back now?”_

_“Mhm.”_

_“Could you help me with something first?”_ Joe stops to look at me and I squint back at him, waiting for him to explain. He lowers his voice and leans closer, closing the distance between us.

_“A moray eel laid its eggs near the perimeter and the boss wants me to relocate them. Everyone else is busy so…”_

That catches me off guard. One or two eels aren’t a nuisance, as they tend to keep to themselves, but an entire nest of them on our perimeter posed more of a threat. Baby eels grow into adult eels. An adult moray eel could seriously injure a seafolk with its jaws if they wandered too close.

I’m eager to help, despite my earlier hesitation. A task like eel-removal makes my everyday duties seem pointless. Not to mention it was an opportunity to venture outside the territory limits.

_“I’ll help.”_

_“Great!”_ Joe expresses his enthusiasm with a flutter of his tail; the golden hue gleams through the water like a jewel.

I’ve always been a bit jealous of his scales. Gold is a desirable color on seafolk. Admirable. _Pretty_. It puts my onyx scales to shame. The only splash of color on me is the aquamarine fibers of my hands- unnoticeable, unless my fingers are spread.

I was fated to have the only black tail in the colony. I suppose I got it from one of my parents, but I can't be sure since I never laid eyes on either of them. Whoever my birth parents were, they left me at the bottom of the reef when I was a hatchling.

I pity my mother- the female seafolk that took me under her fin, that is- it must have been hard to raise a stranger's hatchling with a nest of her own. She did a good job. Even my fifteen adopted siblings seemed to disregard the fact I'm not actually related to them.

Joe and I had been swimming for a while now. He took the lead and our channel of communication fell quiet. One of my favorite things about Joe is that he doesn't push conversation like the others. At times I think he gets as overwhelmed by the colony as I do, but he's far more sociable than I could ever be.

That’s probably why he had a small school of admiring women following him around most of the time.

 _“It's too bad you're a guardian instead of a warrior,”_ my companion mumbles, breaking the silence at last. There's a hint of sympathy in his voice. _“You're better suited for this kind of job, if you ask me.”_

_“That makes two of us.”_

One of us is destined to leave the den, fight off predators, and expand the colony. The other is destined to stay confined to the territory, patrol the limits, and pick moss off of elderfin scales.

Guess which is which.

It's not our decision whether we are trained as a guardian or a warrior; the choice is made by the colony's chief before a hatching. Supposedly it's prophesied, but I think they pick and choose. Since I was “adopted” the chief dropped me into the group he saw most fit.

Lucky me.

 _“We're nearing the edge of the territory,”_ says Joe with a cautious wag of his tail.

As if I didn't know where the edge of the territory was!

I scoff at the unintentional offensiveness and swim a few tail-lengths ahead, ignoring his warning to slow down. It may have been his task, but I wouldn't let him have all the fun. He got to do things like this all the time while I get stuck in the lagoon playing hide-and-seek with children.

Part of me realizes I should be grateful he asked me to come along. I’d probably get reprimanded for it later because guardians aren’t meant to leave the territory unless given permission.

Oh well.

If I proved to the chief that I could navigate the duties of a warrior, maybe he would change his mind about my original placement. The possibility of a punishment was worth it.

 _“What are we looking for?”_ I ask with a quick survey of the area. It dawned upon me that I had no idea what a moray eel nest looked like. Only warriors saw what life was like outside of the borders and other creatures were usually smart enough not to nest in our territory. Apparently _this_ mother eel was a little more thoughtless.

Joe glances in my direction with his lips pursed thoughtfully.

 _“The eggs are like little pebbles,”_ he says. _“Ten thousand little pebbles. But don't worry. They're all bundled together. It’ll be easy to move them.”_

 _“Then what do you need me for?”_ I ask.

_“Suppose the mother is lurking around?”_

_“Oh.”_

Even if I was there as a precaution, ditching my own boring duties was worth it. I had never left the limits of the territory before and this is my first chance to explore. Joe must know me better than I thought if he chose _me_ to watch his back. He could have easily chosen another warrior, someone obviously capable of fighting off a full-grown eel if necessary. But he chose Dan, his grumpy denmate that yearned to experience the life of an adventurer.

I should give him more credit.

 _“Look! Down there in that crevice!”_ Joe points his webbed fingers towards a gathering of stones below. _“That must be it.”_

Hidden in a shadowed crack between two stones and masked behind a curtain of bright pink coral is a glistening sack of eggs. There's several hundred tiny pods, each one reflecting the shimmer of golden scales as Joe draws closer to them. He cautiously peeks into the crevice, blocking them from my view.

 _“No signs of the mother,”_ he says. _“I'm going to do this as fast as possible. Watch my tail, will you?”_

He didn't have to ask; I understood my role and how important it was to keep my eyes open for danger. A rush of adrenaline floods my veins and gives my tail an involuntary quiver of excitement. I feel like a real warrior!

Joe gathers the bundle in his arms- the eggs were so tiny that he could hold them all- and starts heading North.

This is it: the moment I leave the territory for the very first time. This is my first important duty. It's the day I prove myself worthy of being a warrior instead of a lousy guardian.

The moment my fins cross the limits of the territory, a new scent infiltrates my nostrils. No longer do I catch the familiar scent of our colony, but a saltier, fresher smell. The scent of the open water. Wilderness. Freedom. Adventure. I inhale deeply, committing it to memory. If I never left the colony again, I wanted to remember the pungent smell of the open ocean.

I keep a few tail-lengths behind Joe, making sure to scan the area for potential threats. He seemed to know exactly where he was going as he nurses the sack of eggs in his arms. Below us, the seafloor opens up into an endless abyss of water. Blue fades to shades of violet until the color disappears into a blackness darker than my scales. I had never seen the ocean behave so ominously.

_“What do you think, Dan?”_

His voice disrupts my silent appreciation of our surroundings. I say the only thing that comes to my mind.

_“It's amazing.”_

My denmate laughs and a stream of bubbles erupt from his mouth.

 _“I remember my first time out of the territory,”_ he gloats. _“I couldn't believe how big the ocean is. Trust me, this isn't even a sliver of it.”_ If I wasn't so distracted, I would have shown my disdain for his bragging. Instead, I let it slide with a flick of my tailfin. He was a warrior and I was a guardian. Of course he would know more about the ocean than I did.

We swim for several more minutes before Joe determines a decent spot to relocate the egg sack. He tucked them into a hollowed rock where he assures me they'll be safe from predators and before I know it, we're on our way back. Disappointed at the briefness of the task, I make an effort to swim slower than usual.

 _“Will the mother be able to find them?”_ I decide to make small talk along the way. I figure it will make the return trip last longer.

 _“It doesn't matter. Eels are ready to survive on their own as soon as they hatch. Sometimes the mothers don't come back at all,”_ he explains. I frown, bothered by the casual statement. Mothers who abandon their young in the depths of the ocean and leave them to fend for themselves?

The story hits home.

_“Harsh.”_

_“It's just nature.”_

That was the end of our small talk.

As we travel back towards the seafolk territory, the refreshing taste of free ocean is replaced with the familiar tang of the colony. My colony. I already find myself missing the unclaimed waters. I slow my pace, allowing Joe to lead the way as I appreciate the last few moments of _adventure._ I hang back and watch his golden tail roll against the weight of the water. Our channel of communication has returned to a gentle hum.

I come to a stop, and my denmate does not. With every thrust of his tail, I expect him to look over his shoulder and notice my absence. The further he goes, the softer our channel gets until he looks like a smudge of color in a vast space of blue and my head is quiet.

Then he's gone.

Being alone in the open water, even if it's only minutes from the border of our territory, is exhilarating. I feel a sense of bravery and excitement that I've never felt before, not even when I was a youngfin. Suddenly, the world around me is tranquil. My thoughts aren't interrupted by interjecting voices or the presence of other seafolk. It isn't necessary to hide in the depths of the lagoon to find refuge from my denmates.

I'm alone.

I can't stay behind for long. Sooner or later, Joe would notice my absence and come back to find me. In my defense, I would make up a story about getting a cramp in my fin or getting lost in thought. He couldn't blame me for wanting to savor the moment, could he?

Everywhere I look, I'm surrounded by the eerie vacancy of the ocean. I don't see the coral reef or the sandy seafloor. I'm not even sure there was a seafloor. Below me is the mysterious void of darkness I noticed earlier, taunting me with its secrecy. How far do the shadows reach? Does anything live down there?

A sparkle of light catches my eye from within the dark. At first, I thought I imagined it, but the harder I look the more I'm certain it's there.

A jewel?

Sometimes warriors brought back precious jewels from their travels. They were such novelties that the gift of a jewel was a very impressive one, and usually warriors would offer them as courting gifts to their desired mates. If I managed to bring back a jewel, the chief would surely reconsider training me as a warrior.

Maybe I’d even gain a few admirers.

I need that jewel, I decide, and start my journey downwards.

The deeper I plunge, the darker it becomes until I can't see anything around me. The only direction I can recognize is upwards, where the water starts to look lighter. The shimmer of color remains in sight, though it's a lot lower down than I thought. It's a pretty color, tinted gold like the scales of Joe’s tail. I've never seen anything so bright and beautiful. As I draw closer, the jewel grows double in size. What I thought was a tiny stone has become a palm-sized treasure right before my eyes. Lucky find!

I reach a hand out to grab at the sunken treasure, half expecting it to be lodged into some kind of rock. Surprisingly, I can easily pull the jewel into my hand.

But that isn't all I pull.

The jewel, I quickly realize, isn't a jewel at all. It's a bulb of light attached to something much larger. Something _alive._ In the heated glow of the light, I see a scaly tendril extending down to a massive body. The darkness of the water keeps it well hidden from sight and I'm still not sure what the creature is… only that I've made a dangerous mistake. I was lured into a trap.

Before I can make my escape, I catch sight of the creature's open mouth in the glow of the bulb. A jaw full of teeth reveals itself in the dim light.

_Oh, Poseidon…_

I send out the loudest call of distress my mind can handle and pray I'm close enough to the colony for someone to hear.

_“HELP ME!”_

The words barely leave my mind before the mighty predator attacks.

Everything goes black.

 

* * *

 

 

Voices. They start off softly, barely audible over the thunderous hum of water. I only catch bits and pieces of what's being said… not enough to understand. Everything is muffled. I don't know who's speaking. I try to say something- anything- but I can't find the words.

I give up and start to drift.

 

* * *

 

The voices are louder. I can hear them in the back of my mind now, above the growl of the ocean. Two voices. Male and female. They're speaking to each other, and I recognize my name.

 _“I've done everything I can for him. What Dan needs now is plenty of rest.”_ This is the female’s voice, soft and concerned.

 _“Will he survive?”_ The male sounds curt and husky. It's the chief.

_“He will.”_

_“What about his tail?”_

What happened to my tail?

_“It will heal with time...”_

Their conversation ends and I let the silence lull me back to the comfort of sleep.

 

***

 

The next time I wake up, I'm determined to open my eyes. It's a struggle to find the strength to pull myself out of the groggy dream-like consciousness I had been floating in and out of. It felt as if I'd been asleep for ages; my body is stiff and my eyelids are heavy as stones. I groan.

How long had I been unconscious?

Everything comes rushing back to me in a flood of vivid images. The open water. The jewel. The sea creature with giant teeth. The voices of the chief and the female.

How did I get back to the lagoon?

_“Thank Poseidon you're awake. I was starting to worry.”_

I turn my head to look beside me. A female seafolk- Louise, I recall- is wading next to the mossy shelf where I lay. She is the owner of the voice I heard in my dream.

 _“How did I get here?”_ I ask. She brings her webbed hand towards my forehead, brushing my hair back and feeling the temperature of my skin. Her touch is gentle and soothing. She's a healer: one who treats the sick and injured seafolk. I assume we’re in her den.

 _“Do you remember what happened?”_ she urges.

_“Sort of.”_

_“You were attacked by an angler fish.”_

Is that what that hideous creature was?

_“Okay...then what?”_

_“Well…”_ Louise paces across the den to another shelf in the wall. I try to see what she's gathering but my vision is blocked by her billowing blonde hair. _“You sent out a distress call. It was so loud…”_ She returns with an odd smelling package wrapped preciously in a slab of seaweed. _“The chief sent a patrol to find you. They took out the angler and brought you home.”_

Being caught in the open water? Stirring up this much trouble? The chief is going to kill me. They should have let the monstrous fish tear me to pieces instead.

 _“What’s that?”_ I change the subject, focusing on the seaweed pouch she's holding in front of her.

 _“Herbs,”_ she says. That explained the sharp smell in the water. Medicinal herbs were tangy and pungent to the senses. _“They're bitter, but they will help you heal and fight off infection. Your body needs the strength.”_ She extends the bundle with a generous smile, but I don't take it.

 _“How long have I been asleep?”_ It feels like it has been days since I properly stretched my muscles. My entire body aches.

_“Several sunrises.”_

Sleeping through a week's worth of duties? No wonder my body feels so heavy and stiff. I start to sit up, but the movement is slow and staggering. Halfway into a sitting position, a hiss of pain escapes my lips.

 _“My arm-”_ I start to say.

 _“It's broken,”_ Louise confirms, finishing my train of thought. _“You took a pretty blunt hit from that angler. It's a miracle you didn't break anything else.”_

I pull myself up the rest of the way and cradle my injured limb. Broken bones weren't common injuries to seafolk and I wondered if she could fix it. Could healers mend broken bones like they could mend illness?

As I fight to find comfort on my makeshift bed, I quickly realize my arm is not the only injury I’ve sustained.

A gaping wound stretches up the side of my tail; the scales had been ripped away and the flesh underneath was raw and inflamed. I try to test its mobility, but the action brings a bolt of electric pain through my entire body.

 _“I've done what I can,”_ the healer murmurs in the corner of my mind. Her voice is laced with sympathy that I don't want. _“But it’s… it’s pretty bad.”_

This isn't her fault. It's mine.

_“When Joe and the others found you, your tail was sort of… hooked in it's teeth-”_

Stupid. I'm so stupid.

_“The muscle is torn… quite badly. I'm sorry, Dan. I’m not going to get your hopes up… you might not be able to swim again.”_

What?

_“Not without help, at least. Someone to assist you around the lagoon-”_

I don't want anyone’s help!

_“I know it's a shock… you've been in a traumatic accident and you need time to recover. Try to eat these herbs, they will ease your nerves.”_

I smack the herbs out of her hand and fight to leave the mossy shelf. My tail beats wildly against the stone in a violent reflex, an action that immediately taints the water with deep red tendrils.

 _“Dan!”_ Louise grabs my shoulders and tries to wrestle me back down. _“You have to calm down! You’re bleeding!”_

The wound, freshly reopened by the bludgeons, sends another searing agony through my skin. All I can think about is how this _can’t_ be real.

It can’t _possibly_ be real.

 _“Enough!”_ The stern voice of my superior slices through my mind, silencing my thoughts and bringing an abrupt end to my struggling. A moment later, his broad, muscular form swivels into the healer’s den from an opening in the cavern. I fall still and let out a weak groan. Louise immediately gets to work, quickly covering the gaping wound on my tail with a fresh wrap of seaweed. The pressure of her hands makes me bite my lip.

The chief locks eyes with me, his amber irises trying to gauge my emotion. Such an intense stare from our colony's leader makes me feel miniscule.

_“You cannot take this out on others. Louise saved your life and you owe her your utmost respect.”_

I feel like a youngfin getting scolded, shrinking under the disapproval of my leader.

 _“What's going to happen to me?”_ I manage to ask. _“If I cant swim again… what will I do?”_ Would I be completely dependent on others for the rest of my life? Would I ever be able to leave the lagoon again? I desperately search for the chief’s nonverbal cues in hopes he will somehow reassure me, but his expression remains firm. _“There's got to be some way… something I can do to heal...”_

My eyelids start to flutter. Fighting Louise had taken the strength of every muscle in my body and the pain had started to catch up with me. When the healer guides my head onto a roll of moss, I don't try to move again.

I'm so weak.

_“Rest now, Daniel. The colony will provide for you.”_

His deep voice starts to fade into the back of my mind and my vision narrows into a tunnel. Even the pressure of the healer’s hands on my tail starts to tingle and fade to a numb weight. A drugged-like sensation corrupts my thoughts; the involuntary sensation of falling asleep feels like a poison. My mind is trying to fight my body, but it’s no use. The brief struggling had robbed me of every ounce of strength I had left.

_“I don't want to rest...”_

No sooner than I spoke did I slip under a rolling wave of unconsciousness.

 

 

***

 

 

**PRESENT DAY…**

_“Would you stop complaining? You got stung by a jellyfish, not a manta ray.”_ I finish wrapping a poultice of herbs on my denmates forearm, tucking the seaweed around itself to form a proper wrap. It was sloppy, but it got the job done.

 _“You were being rough!”_ my patient whines with a kick of his tail. _“It hurts!”_

_“Life hurts. If you want to be coddled, go back to the nursery.”_

_“Honestly, Daniel?”_ Louise snuck up behind me with a parcel of herbs. _“Would it kill you to show your denmates some compassion?”_ She hands them to the male with a cheery smile and sends him off with a pat. _“Come back tomorrow and let us take a look at that, okay?”_

I roll my eyes and wait for my denmate to slither out before expressing my opposition.

 _“He's a warrior,”_ I mutter.

 _“You're a healer,”_ the blonde retorts. _“A rather poor one, if I might add. I bet a blind squid could make a better wrap than that.”_

 _“It’s not like I asked to be a healer.”_ I return to my shelf and stretch out across the mossy bedding.

 _“Stop being pitiful.”_ My denmate’s sharp voice contrasts greatly from her jovial nature, which meant I had successfully ticked her off. _“Remember, you’re lucky to be mobile at all.”_

It’s only been three moon cycles, but it’s felt like a lifetime.

The splice in my tail has healed, but the muscles never fully recovered. Louise predicted that I wouldn’t be able to swim again, but thankfully she had been wrong. I can swim, just not particularly _well_.

Not well enough to be a warrior… or a guardian, for that matter. I was such a poor swimmer that I was confined to the lagoon “for my own safety”. In other words, the chief didn’t want to waste any warriors looking after me in the big blue. Without being able to complete the simplest tasks, I wasn’t even suitable to be a guardian. Instead, I was given the only other role there was: the healer’s assistant.

It wasn’t like I disliked Louise- I’m actually quite fond of her- but being confined to the lagoon was my worst nightmare. The few tasks I had throughout the day were so dreadfully dull that I actually missed my lame guardian responsibilities. Every day passed without the slightest sense of accomplishment.

I feel useless.

 _“Make yourself useful and tidy the herb storage,”_ my mentor orders. _“I won’t have you sulking around here for a single day longer.”_

I swing my tail over the edge of the sea shelf, letting it hang below me like a dead weight.

 _“I’ve organized it twice today,”_ I complain.

 _“For Poseidon’s sake, find something to do then,”_ she barks. _“Your brooding is stifling.”_

I can’t blame her for getting agitated with me. My attitude is lousy and I’ve made no effort to change it.

What would be the point?

I decide to venture out of the healer’s den and get something to eat.

The lagoon is bustling with activity. A small group of youngfin are playing tag in the clearing while their mothers watch them from a distance. The elders are stretched out along the most comfortable shelf in the nest, chatting with one another about something in a voice too quiet for me to hear. A patrol of guardians lingers by the entrance, conversing with a warrior who had just arrived with a satchel around his waist.

Food.

The warrior hands off the satchel to the guardians and leaves just as quickly as he arrived. The guardians, with the loaded satchel in hand, swim towards the hollowed pool in the middle of the nest. They empty the contents of the bag, dropping an impressive load of prey into the hollow. I make my way over, hoping to snag a voluptuous fish for myself.

I struggle against the weight of the water with a tail that swats awkwardly and ungracefully behind me. My stomach is growling loud enough that I put my self-conscious thoughts behind me. Hopefully, the others were too interested in the fresh food to stare at my pathetic attempts at swimming.

When I finally reach the hollow, I grab a red snapper from the pile and tuck it under my chin. I needed both arms to swim with a useless tail, which made carrying anything a challenge.

_“Hey, Dan. Need a hand?”_

It’s Joe. My previous denmate is holding a fish of his own: a modest-sized bass. Without waiting for my response, he extends a hand out and takes the snapper, freeing my neck from its uncomfortable position. I bite my tongue to keep from blurting out in my own defense. I had been doing just fine without his help. One disabled tail and the entire colony treats you like a helpless hatchling.

 _“How’s your training going?”_ he asks in a conversational voice. _“Is it fun to be a healer?”_

Was he trying to be funny? The nervous gleam in his eyes says he’s not. He’s genuinely worried about me.

I decide to spare him my typical attitude. I’ve heard him talking to Louise when he thinks I’m asleep; he blames himself for my injuries (as if he forced me to wander off on my own and get mauled by a monster). Now he talks to me like he’s crossing seashells.

 _“It’s fine,”_ I say. Joe looks somewhat relieved. He holds my lunch in one hand and his bass in the other, motioning towards a shady shelf across the lagoon.

 _“Do you want to eat together?”_ he asks.

I hesitantly agree. It’s better than eating in the healer’s den again, I suppose. Joe flashes a big smile and throws the end of his tail up in front of me, flashing a gleam of light across my face from his golden fins. A shiver of discomfort ripples through me. For a grown seafolk to be hanging onto a warrior’s tail like a youngfin… it was humiliating and I hated it with every fiber of my body.

Nonetheless, I grab onto his tail and let him pull me across the clearing. As far as I could tell, no one else was looking at us. They had probably gotten used to seeing me struggle with my injury, but it didn’t make me feel any less mortified to be so helpless.

Joe pulls me over to the shaded rocky shelf and we settle down together to share our meal. I immediately yank my arm back, eager to be separated from the tandem. He looks slightly uncomfortable and slides me the snapper.

 _“There’s a big storm coming from the West,”_ says the warrior. _“The chief sent us out to gather a bunch of prey, just in case. We might not be able to leave the lagoon until it passes. In case the currents get too rough, you know...”_

 _“Being stuck in the lagoon? Damn, what a nightmare,”_ I mutter sarcastically. Joe makes a face like he doesn’t know what to say and I stifle a sigh.

 _“I wish you were out there with me, Dan.”_ The disappointment on his face is genuine; I can sense guilt and sadness radiating from his side of the channel. _“I’m sorry that you have to stay here all the time.”_

I tear into another bite of my lunch. His guilty conscience won’t do either of us any good.

 

***

 

The storm rushes in faster than expected. By early moonrise, there is an unsettling atmosphere that falls over the lagoon. The youngfin lay nestled close to their mothers in the deepest nooks of their dens. The guardians pace back and forth with unnerving flicks of their tails. They hold soft, muffled conversations between each other in attempts to stay awake. Even the warriors had been ushered home, restlessly wandering the cove as if staying still would cause them physical pain.

I lay awake, stretched out on my stomach so I could overlook into the clearing of the lagoon. My bed, despite being littered with a fresh layer of soft moss, feels crowded and chilly. I start to curl the end of my tail, idly working the muscles in the way Louise had shown me.

The soft sound of my denmate sleeping across the den passes through one ear and out the other. Her gentle snoring, barely audible over the hum of the water’s presence, is comforting. I drop my chin onto the curve of my arm and stare longingly into the clearing. I notice Joe floating around with a few of the other warriors, conversing silently with his denmates.

They’re nervous.

Something about the change in the atmosphere makes everything tense, even in the safety of the lagoon. It feels as if nature itself is warning us about the churning waves overhead.

The elderfin always said: _Fear the violence of a merciless storm, for its strength is unyielding._

In other words: Fear anything you don’t understand and hide in your dens at the first sign of danger.

Joe’s golden tail is rhythmic and soothing; accompanied with Louise’s breathing, I _almost_ feel inclined to doze off.

I force my eyes shut, hoping the blackness behind my eyelids will aid me to sleep.

Then an idea strikes me.

The entire colony is distracted by the foul weather and the instinctive fear in their chests. No one was really watching the entrance because _surely_ no one was fish-brained enough to leave the lagoon during a dangerous storm.

The opportunity is too valuable to pass up. I was slipping off of the mossy shelf before I could comprehend my actions. Wiggling out of the healer’s den, I hold my breath and slither against the outskirts of the lagoon. I’m uncomfortably aware of the slimy texture of stone against my scales with each stroke of my tail.

Determined to keep out of sight, I dip lower and keep to the shadows. My darkness comes in handy, camouflaging my body.

An adrenaline rush courses through me. What in Poseidon’s name was I doing? What could I possibly expect to get from sneaking out of the lagoon when literally every other seafolk was taking shelter?

I know the answer: I’m desperate to prove myself. I wasn’t afraid of the ocean… not like they were.

But this wasn’t like the last time. Falling behind Joe and leaving myself vulnerable to attack had been a mistake that had nearly cost my life.

 _This_ is different.

I can venture out of the lagoon and do it while the rest of the colony is cowering in their dens.

Just a little stroll to clear my head.

My heart pounds harder as I draw closer to the exit. The opening of the cove is visible just a few tail-lengths ahead, an archway to the rest of the territory. I swallow hard and use my hands to grasp at the walls, using them as an aid to glide faster. My guilty conscience is actively making excuses to turn me around, but I counter them with excuses of my own.

If I didn’t leave the limits, I wasn’t _really_ breaking the rules.

I'd be back in my den before anyone realized I had gone.

No one would know.

If I turn around now, I could join the other seafolk in the clearing and pretend I hadn’t been trying to sneak out undetected. I could make my way back to the healer’s den with as much stealth as I was showing now and fall asleep.

I could start to ignore my reckless urges.

For a split second, I fear the others have noticed me. I swear that Joe glances in my direction and catches sight of my iridescent scales, but he says nothing. Gold hues shift back to the other warriors and the murmuring of a distant conversation resumes.

If he saw me, he hid it well.

Taking my luck as a superstitious sign of approval, I ignore all impulses to turn back and glide out of the lagoon.


End file.
